Amadores de este mundo: The Berry Christ

Pesadillas nuevamente. Despierto con el corazon agitado, roto. Agujas enterradas causadas por el dolor que yo imparto y que otros me imparten. Solo remordimiento, cero arrepentimiento. Un ciclo de amor no correspondido. Un ciclo de odio y engaño. De deseo falso, de usar cuerpos para sentir placer ajeno. Cero amor, una mentira para no lastimar tus deseos. Repeticion de patrones. De querer todo aquello que es inalcanzable. De rechazar y asquearme de lo tangible. De soñar amores a medias. De aguantar lo que no me interesa, solo por mantenerlo en mi inventario… por mi simple mentalidad del “por si acaso.” Por si acaso viene un huracán. Por si acaso nada. Si no es tu alma, es otra.

Iniquidad.

Soy una mala noticia; soy tu mala noticia. Reflejo en mi tu mentira. Rompo tu corazon y tu herida me alimenta. Tu herida me inmuniza de la puñalada recibida por otros que son igual que yo. Otros que reclaman amar al mundo; devoradores. Pero la realidad es que todo aquel que ama al mundo, ama a nadie.

-The BerryChrist

Strawmary Feels Forever

Saint Marla of Broken Hearts

Marla… yesterday I saw you again. 4.35pm in the afternoon. You were wearing your black UKO jacket covered with cat fur. You were paler than ever. Decrepit, dying, yet so beautiful. The opiate does wonders to your greying skin.

Your hair is not how I remember it.

I turn my back on you. You are with your friends. I feel tension build up on my shoulders. I dont want you to see me. This feeling suddenly is substituted with the enormous need to talk to you. But as soon as I turn my back, you are already gone.

I look for you.

Every time my love turns off like a light-switch, it comes back on more intensely than before. It is as if you’ve become a symbol of all that’s beautiful, all that’s lovely, and all that is sad… a saint. Saint Marla of Broken Hearts and Open Veins.

Cat hair in your chow mein.

I like decrepit things.

I like the fact that everyone who works in an office eats in sanitized granola cafes, where the food is 70% lettuce and bread. Ok, fine… I’m exaggerating, sometimes it is spinach too.

There is this place though, this beautiful decrepit cafeteria that is always empty. I’m sure there are rumors about cockroaches, or about the immigrant owners using cat flesh instead of beef, and that’s why only truck drivers eat there. Still, I prefer it to any other place. It feels much more comforting than the hyper sanitized granola cafe… somehow it feels closer to reality. The food is greasy, and over-cooked. Yes, the artery-clogging type. But the funny thing is that, just like me, everyone of those granola loving yuppies someday is still gonna die… regardless of their clean cafes, and most likely sooner than me. And if not sooner, then their death will be torturous. Probably something like being on life support for a year, until their grown kids decide to unplug their yellowing feeding tubes. One hit of a button, and goodbye Grandpa.

The cabin is always losing pressure.

You know what else I love? The pockets of ghetto in every glorified area. Reminders of the reality that exists outside of rich people’s gyms and fountains. Every time I walk by this crazy guy’s house in the financial district (surely he bought it during the time property was worth 10 cents), I cannot help but to take a peek at all the junk that’s inside. He’s just sitting on the ground with a bucket full of shit in front of him. Sorry, “art in progress.” Still, just the anomaly of this guy existing in a sanitized landscape brings comfort to my disrupted being. I rubberneck his property. Like dying… vicariously.

Maybe it is because his shack reminds me of my Grandparents’ crazy ghetto home. My Grams would kill me if she knew I let out this secret… but she’s already dead.

I like decrepit things.

And I don’t mind hair in my chow mein.

Musical type – The Absence of God

Emotional type. Sometimes visuals accompany music, sometimes music is what compliments the visuals. What if type complimented music? Wouldn’t it be fun if lyrics could be felt, instead of read. The lyrics would not be placed in their “real” didactic order, but their location would depend on how important a person interprets them to be. When the audio gets rough, the type can also get rough.

*Thinks*

Wanna make more of these.

Oh, yes… the “heartless” are making their appearance in color for the first time.

Techniques? Photo taken by me at the steps (North Beach, next to The Green Turtose Hostel), vector work in Flash using my tablet for a better flow of the lines. My typical vignette can be found, and also a couple of solids in Overlay mode.

-Alex

April’s Fools and Google

Did I just go back in time to write this post? No, I did not! I’m writing this today April 1st as a prediction… Google’s new custom time feature for Gmail is an April’s Fools prank. They would bring the end of the Internet as we know it if it were true. Every year, Google pranks people in the most creative of ways… and definitely, “time traveling” Email is one of the best ones

First of all, the quotes they use from happy costumers are all about people who are being deceitful. A good example:

“I just got two tickets to Radiohead by being the ‘first’ to respond to a co-worker’s ‘first-come, first-serve’ email. Someone else had already won them, but I told everyone to check their inboxes again. Everyone sort of knows I used Custom Time on this one, but I’m denying it.”

Also, Email is used to send essays to instructors or as proof in cases of copyright. If you could send emails back in time, email would just lose any of it’s “official-ness.”

So, yes… I guess I’ll come back later and make this post into a “Pagan Origins of April’s Fools” post.

Btw, my best friend woke me up today telling me she was pregnant… and kept me on the phone torturing me asking me what to do. And all I could think of was Juno, I swear to God. Anyway, she was just pranking me, but point is that… thanks to that phone call, I don’t believe in anything today… not even if it is from the gods themselves at Google (or should I say SPECIALLY if it comes from Google).

Hmmm, I should have just pranked you, shouldn’t I?

-Alex